


Flying High with the Desert Cats

by california_112



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Desert, Gen, Kismet's Writing Challenge VIII, Post-WW2, Special Air Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-25 00:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: Bertie's face fell. "Well, what Herculean task has Raymond set us now?" he inquired humorously, "Slaying a dragon or something?""Close," Biggles said, taking a seat behind his desk, "we've got to bring one back from the middle of the Sahara."Three mouths dropped open.-or-Raymond sets the Air Police a new case, and it's not quite what they are expecting. This is the full work that was teasered for in Dragon [Inktober 2019].ABSOLUTELY 0% SPOILERS FOR ANYTHING





	1. The Mission Proposal

"You'll never believe what Raymond's asked us to do this time."

Two of Air-Inspector Bigglesworth's three air-constables looked up at this pronouncement, interested for what might come next. The third, Air-Constable Bertie Lissie, merely glanced around, before turning back to the others.

"Then why listen? Where were we?"

"Bertie, sometimes you can be very amusing!" Biggles said, closing the office door, "And then there's now."

Bertie's face fell. "Well, what Herculean task has Raymond set us now?" he inquired humorously, "Slaying a dragon or something?"

"Close," Biggles said, taking a seat behind his desk, "we've got to bring one back from the middle of the Sahara."

Three mouths dropped open.

"You can't be serious," Air-Constable Algy Lacey said after a minute, "a _dragon_? In the Sahara?"

"A Dragon, four casualties, and four rather large diamonds."

"This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." Air-Constable Ginger Hebblethwaite put in. "A dragon, four casualties, and four diamonds walk into a bar-"

"That's enough fooling, this is serious." Biggles said. "A Dragon Rapide had a forced landing yesterday in the Sahara, on a long run from Niamey, in Niger, to Luxor, Egypt. It hit a sand dune at high speed after it got its wheels on the ground, and the two crew and two pilots were hurt rather badly. One of them just about had the strength to send an SOS, but nothing has been heard since."

"Where is this prang?" Bertie asked, "I mean, who's particular patch of sand have they rucked up?"

"It's not quite clear, but probably Libya- the problem arose annoyingly near the point where Libya, Niger, and Chad all meet. Somehow, all three countries know already, and have land forces rolling there, most likely from Agadez, Faya-Largeau, and Awbari."

"What's the issue then, surely those fellows can clear up?" Algy pointed out.

"The issue is that the Dragon's second pilot was a stowaway- and a British intelligence agent. The four diamonds were stolen from a big-time crook in Niamey, as they were going to fund a bout of violence- basically a revolution. The agent was taken on by the British because of his skill set, but he's already got a criminal record in France. So, if people from Niger get him then he'll be handed back to the crook, if people from Chad get him then he'll be handed straight back to Niger, and if people from Libya get him then the French police will prevent him from getting the diamonds to the British, who are going to hold onto them for safekeeping, until they can be returned to their rightful owners. That's the issue."

It was clear to everyone that this was a very time-sensitive situation, and it was asked when they were leaving.

"In an hour," Biggles replied, "we're just going to grab some small kit and go. If all goes well, we shouldn't be out there for long."


	2. Men On The Spot

Early the next morning, the four air-police stepped down from their commercial flight to Alexandria, tired from only having limited sleep on the flight over. After quickly making themselves known at the local RAF station, as per Raymond's instructions, they sat down over breakfast at a nearby café to talk plans.

"After speaking to the CO," Biggles started, "I've found that Raymond is taking this thing seriously. We're flying down to Luxor in a few hours, and we've each got a machine to take with us: two Mosquitos, a Lysander, and a Handley Page Harrow- yes, I hadn't thought there were any of those out here either." he added, seeing the surprise on his fellow airman's faces.

"That's a bit of a motley crew," Algy commented, "what use is a Lysander? Its range won't even take it out of Egypt."

"I was wondering that too, but apparently it's all Raymond could pull together, and it's got some tanks for extra juice which add about a quarter of its range. Raymond knows how much we like to have a kite each." Biggles threw a glance at Bertie, but didn't elaborate further.

"I take it the Harrow has been fitted with extra tanks too?" Bertie asked, having missed the jibe.

"That's one thing that Raymond couldn't arrange," Biggles said, "we've got to do it ourselves when we get to Luxor, and on the Mosquitos as well. Shouldn't take long though, if we all get on it."

When the meal was done, the group strolled back to the RAF station to inspect their new charges before taking them to Luxor. The Harrow, standing next to the Mosquitos and Lysander, dwarfed them substantially, they made an awkward quartet, especially with the Harrow's strangely stick-like undercarriage. After performing the pre-flight checks and walkarounds all together, so everyone was re-familiarized with every aircraft, it was decided which kite was who's.

"Bertie and I will take the Mosquitoes," Biggles said, "Ginger and Algy can fight over the Lysander and the Harrow."

"I'll take the Harrow," Algy volunteered, "Ginger doesn't have much experience with larger aircraft."

"That's settled then." Biggles announced, ignoring Ginger's glare of annoyance. "Let's get going. See you in Luxor."

With that, the four pilots separated to their aircraft, and, one by one, roared into the clear blue Egyptian sky, heading south. At first, the four aircraft kept together, but when it was realised that the Harrow was significantly slower than the Mosquitos or Lysander, the decision was made that the other three would go ahead, and the Harrow could catch up.

The two Mosquitos immediately throttled up and sped away, but the Lysander was a little slower to follow, and Ginger could still see the Harrow in his reflector for quite some time, the shadow of Algy occasionally visible at the controls. Glancing at it every few minutes, Ginger was not surprised to see the lumbering transport aircraft slip away from him, but was quite surprised when he looked up at one point to see it had gone altogether. Putting it down to the heat haze which was a common occurrence over desert country, he continued towards Luxor, and landed about an hour later.

Ginger parked the Lysander out of the sun, just outside in the hangar which the Mosquitoes had already been pushed into, and started to walk over to his friends. Biggles and Bertie were were standing in the shade of the terminal building when he arrived, discussing something over glasses of iced lemonade. Nobody else was out in the midday heat, except a single figure leaning against the building a short distance from the two airmen, smoking an almost comically long and thin cigarette. Oddly, Biggles and Bertie didn't seem to notice Ginger's approach until he was almost next to them, and he could tell by the looks on their faces that something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, "Is it the Harrow?"

"No, it's the long-range fuel tanks." Biggles replied. "What makes you think there's something up with the Harrow?"

"Oh nothing, I just wondered." Ginger replied. "What's wrong with the tanks?"

"We've had a look at them, and they're just not big enough, laddie." Bertie explained. "They won't take us from here to the Dragon's likely position and back again."

"What are we going to do?" Ginger asked, realizing how big a blow this was for the rescue plan.

"We'll just have to move the starting line a bit closer," Biggles said frankly, "there's nothing else to be done. There are four casualties in that desert, and a revolution depending on the four diamonds that are with them."

"But where, old boy?" Bertie enquired. "We can't just pitch a tent on a jolly old sand dune, you know. It would get cold at night."

"That would be one problem," Biggles replied dryly, "what about fuel and oil? Hospital facilities for the casualties? Fresh water?"

"Well yes, and those as-"

"Dakhla."

The three air police spun around at the word, staring at its speaker. The man who had been leaning against the terminal when Ginger had arrived now detached himself and strolled over lazily, still dragging on the long, thin cigarette.

"Excuse me?" Biggles asked, wondering if the person had been addressing them.

"You are looking for an airfield in the western desert- Dakhla is such a place." the man said, joining the group.

Now that he was closer, it was seen that he was short and thin, with a sunburnt complexion beneath a greasy skullcap. His clothes seemed to hang off him as though they were a size too big, but none of this stopped his mannerisms from being those of someone who owned the ground they walked on. The smoke from his elongated cigarette was singularly acrid, and made all three men wrinkle their noses.

"How do you know we are looking to go to the western desert?" Biggles asked, suspicious.

"I listen," the man said simply, "and now I help. Dakhla is one hundred miles west of here, and has all the things you ask for: fuel, oil, hospital, and fresh water."

"That sounds very useful." Biggles said. "We'll get right over. Thank you…"

"Makhadie." the man said, inclining his head slightly, before turning and strolling back to his previous position, leaning against the terminal building.

"Well, Dakhla it is then. I'll check the distance to be sure we've got enough fuel." Biggles pronounced, then led the other two over to the hangar with the Mosquitos.

Whilst maps were being pulled out, Bertie asked "Where do you think Algy is, chaps? He ought to have been here by now, he must be gasping for a lemonade."

"I was thinking that too," Biggles replied, spreading the map over one of the Mosquito's elevators. "Why did you think that there was something wrong with the Harrow earlier, Ginger?"

"Nothing much- it was just the first thing that came to mind." Ginger replied. "I noticed that it dropped out of view quite suddenly on the way here, but other than that there was nothing out of the ordinary."

"Well, he'd better turn up before too much longer." Biggles said. "I'd like to get to this place Dakhla before dinner, even if it means Algy following on. We can get the first reconnaissance flight out this afternoon if we get there quickly, and find the crash sooner."

Pulling out a pair of compasses, Biggles used a ruler set them to one hundred miles apart on the map's scale, and scanned the area roughly west of Luxor. However, after a minute of looking, he became certain- there was no 'Dakhla' on the map. Tapping Bertie on the shoulder, he got him to take a look, just in case he was being stupid. Bertie remeasured the compasses, scanned the map, but drew the same blank result. Suddenly, Ginger stepped in.

"Have you found it yet?"

"No- it's not on the blasted map." Bertie replied.

"It must be, the guy told us where it was."

"You take a look then, because we can't spot it." Biggles advised, staring over at Makhadie, who was still leaning against the terminal.

Ginger waved away the proffered compasses, and leant over the map. He had only been looking at the map for half a minute when his finger stabbed a portion of desert, and he let out a cry of satisfaction.

"There it is- Dakhla, part of that green blob. How did you miss that?"

Biggles took a look. "That's well over a hundred miles west- more like two hundred, if not more."

"Well, that just means it's even closer to our objective- let's get going." Bertie said, moving swiftly to his Mosquito and beginning his walkaround.

As the others did the same, Biggles thought about Makhadie's massive error of distance. If they had assumed that it was as far away as he had told them, and not topped up their petrol, they could have been stranded in the desert, hundreds of miles from anywhere- more importantly, hundreds of miles from water. It was a fairly easy mistake to make, but even so, it could have had deadly consequences- not just for them, but for the four men awaiting rescue in the Sahara, and the entire population of Niger. It was lucky they'd checked. Just as they were climbing into their aircraft, Bertie suddenly called across the hangar.

"I say, Biggles, how will Algy know where we've gone? He'll turn up at some point with no clue where we've trundled off to."

"I could stay behind…?" Ginger offered, but Biggles refused.

"We'll all go to Dakhla now, I don't want our party spread over the whole of north Africa." he said. "Ginger, run over and leave a message with that chap Makhadie. If he spoke to us, he'll likely speak to Algy, and he can give him the note then."

Ginger did as he was asked, then hurried back and jumped in the Lysander. The formation of three took off, turning west on a heading for Dakhla, and the two Mosquitos quickly outstripped the lumbering Lysander. In fact, they arrived almost an hour ahead of the little aircraft, and Biggles and Bertie had sorted out most of the details when finally Ginger landed. However, it was still early in the afternoon, and it was decided that the program should begin then. Bertie was volunteered for the first reconnaissance sortie, much to his disgust, as the cockpits of the machines had become like ovens over the morning. With nothing else to do, Biggles and Ginger sat around outside the hangars, soaking up the tropical sun. Biggles also decided to soak in some nicotine, as he pulled out a pack of Egyptian cigarettes that he had found in Alexandria, and lit one. To Ginger, it smelt disgusting, and he was glad that he'd never taken up the habit.

It was only fifteen minutes after Bertie left, however, that this became too much like wasting daylight to Biggles, and he itched for something to do. Looking around for anything out of place, he suddenly realised that they still had a missing member.

"Where the devil is Algy?" he wandered aloud, scanning the Harrow-less blue skies.

"He should have turned up by now," Ginger agreed, "I wonder if he's waiting around at Luxor?"

"Well if he is, and Bertie comes back and says that he's found the Dragon's crash site, then we're going to be in an awkward situation." Biggles asserted.

There was silence between them for a moment, then Ginger turned to the senior pilot. "Let me take the Lysander to Luxor, just to check. If he's not there, then I'll come straight back."

"Alright," Biggles agreed, after a moment of silence, "but what good will coming straight back do? There’s nothing doing here. You may as well wait for him, but be back here before dark. If he's been waiting there all this time, you might ask that cove Makhadie what he thought delivering a message entailed." he added with a snort.

After his aircraft had been quickly refueled, Ginger took off and swung around to the east, heading back to Luxor. Beneath him, sand dunes grew and shrank in quick succession as he flew past them, and the occasional outcrop of sun-blasted rock sent even the sturdy Lysander rocking. However, apart from these spectacles of nature, the journey was just as featureless as the one he had undertaken less than two hours ago, and he was very glad when the green ribbon of the Nile climbed over the horizon, eventually presenting Luxor.

The first thing he noticed when he could see any detail was that the Harrow was not there, but the distinct and singular figure of Makhadie was, still leaning against the terminal as he had been when they had left. It gave Ginger a strange feeling of déjà vu to see the airfield practically unchanged when he returned- almost as though he had never left. He carefully put the Lysander down, parked it smartly in its previous spot, which had sadly lost most of its shade by this point, and walked over to Makhadie. The only thing that had changed about him was that his cigarette was significantly shorter, but the smoke was just as acrid as before.

"Say, has that big aeroplane that I told you about come in at all?" he asked, standing near the shorter man.

"Nobody has arrived since you left." was the calmly delivered, yet worrying reply.

"What, nobody at all?" Ginger asked, looking at a small civil aircraft that he hadn't remembered seeing before.

"I see you take off, then nothing moves for a long time, then I see you land." Makhadie answered, with infuriating slowness. "No aeroplanes, big or small, since I see you last."

"Well…thanks, I guess." Ginger looked at the sun. "I'm going to stay around for a bit. If you see the big aeroplane, tell the pilot that Ginger is in that hangar over there." he pointed out the building in question, then walked off towards it, thinking.

If Algy still hadn't turned up there, that could only mean one thing: he was down somewhere between Alexandria and Luxor. In almost seven hundred kilometers of desolate sand, the thin band of Nile twisting through it, anything could have happened, and Ginger hoped that it had only been a temporary hitch. Settling himself in the hangar previously occupied by the two Mosquitos, which was thankfully still quite cool, he trained his eyes on the runway, and resigned himself to the wait.

About two hours later, Ginger decided that he needed to get off now, or he would be pushing it to arrive at Dakhla before dark. As slowly as he dared, all the while listening for the throbbing of the Harrow's engines, he readied the Lysander and climbed in. By the time he was ready, the sun was already beginning to dip towards the horizon, and he knew he would be cutting it fine. With a puzzled and heavy heart, he took off and raced west, wondering what on earth had happened to his friend.


	3. What Happened To Algy

When the formation of four aircraft took off from Alexandria, Algy knew that he was the slowest of the bunch. The Mosquitos were obviously having trouble staying at a slow enough speed to keep in their diamond formation, and it was only ten minutes before Algy proposed that the faster aircraft should go ahead, and he would catch up. He almost chuckled as the Mosquitos immediately raced away like runners off a starting block, and the Lysander followed at a slightly slower pace. Biggles and Bertie were out of sight within fifteen minutes, but Ginger stuck around a little longer, having a cruise speed only a little faster than that of the heavy transport.

Just as Ginger was fading in and out of the heat haze, Algy happened to notice that something else was fading in and out: one of his fuel gauges was wavering over empty, and at that moment the starboard propeller feathered a little before stopping dead. Calmly counteracting the unbalanced torque of one engine, Algy switched over to the gravity tank, looking for somewhere to land. It was lucky that he was just overflying Beni Suef Aerodrome, for the gravity tank had no effect of restarting the engine- it must have leaked, as it too seemed to be empty. After a quick descent, he landed without a bump on the primitive, sandy runway, and looked around him.

Beni Suef could hardly be called an aerodrome- there wasn't a hangar in sight, or any other aircraft. A low brick hut with a large sign outside it declaring 'مطار - Aéroport - Airport' was the only sign that he had landed on the right patch of sand, and a small group of men gathered around it seemed to be the staff. Why French was on there he had no idea, but it suited him fine as he couldn't speak a work of Arabic. As they didn't show any sign of moving, he walked over to them, mentally brushing up on his limited French and hoping that they spoke it- the painter of the sign certainly did.

"Bonjour!" he greeted with a smile, to be met by several blank looks. "Est-ce que tu parles français?"

None of the men moved.

"Do any of you speak English?" he asked, starting to feel awkward.

Still nobody said anything.

"Fuel?" he tried, trying to mime refuelling the stricken Harrow. "Carburant?"

"Carburant!" said one of the men suddenly, in an accent hardly recognisable as French, and sprung up, running into the building.

The rest of the men continued to stare at him as though he had just landed from outer space, until the man returned with two large cans marked petrol. "Carburant!"

"Merci!" Algy said, taking the cans and turning back to the aircraft.

"Oi!" he was stopped in his tracks by a cry, and turned around. "Argent, s'il vous plaît!"

He could have laughed how this was clearly the extent of the man's French knowledge, and happily took out a crisp, five-pound note of the Egyptian Pound denomination that he had bought with him. Not knowing the exchange rate, he had no idea how much money he gave over, but the man seemed happy and he got his fuel. After topping up the main tanks quickly, and seeing that they had given him more than enough petrol to continue to Luxor, he decided to give both engines and all tanks the once over, repairing the leak in the gravity tank before testing the engines. All the while he was watched by the silent group of men, and by the end it was quite unnerving. He was glad to return to the sky an hour later, and hurried on down towards Luxor.

When he was finally circling the aerodrome, he was a little troubled to see that neither of the Mosquitos or the Lysander were in sight. Unknowingly parking the Harrow outside the very hangar that Biggles, Bertie, and Ginger had vacated ten minutes earlier, he wandered over to the only person he could see, a short, thin man smoking a long, thin, odious cigar. He coughed, partly because of the smoke, and partly to announce his presence. The man looked at home lazily, and Algy wondered if he would have to try out his French again.

"Hello," he said tentatively, "have you seen any English pilots today?"

"I have seen you," the man replied, "that is all."

Algy thought for a minute to see if there were any particularly distinguishing features about Bertie, Biggles or Ginger. Ginger!

"Nobody with red hair?" he asked, tapping at his own blond mop to illustrate.

"Yours is the only head of hair I have seen today." the man said, exhaling a cloud of acrid smoke.

Algy thanked him and took a couple of paces away. If Biggles, Bertie, and Ginger had never arrived here, then they must have had problems en route similar to him. If they had had the misfortune not to be near an aerodrome when their problems occurred, they could be in serious trouble, stranded in the middle of the desert, miles from civilisation. He hadn't seen them on his way to Luxor, but he hadn't exactly been looking for them- his main occupation had been checking the fuel gauges to see there were no more issues, and waiting for Luxor to appear. Leaving a message as to his plans with the man, whose name he learned was Makhadie, he had the Harrow fully refuelled before taking off, heading in the direction he had just come from.

His plan was to fly to Beni Suef and back again, quartering every mile of ground both ways, making sure that if his companions were stranded, they would be picked up by nightfall. If they weren't there, he didn't quite know what he'd do, but he had to do something. He admitted later that it did not even cross his mind that they might have moved on from Luxor altogether.

After some hours of searching, he was ten miles out from being back at Luxor, and had found nothing. A couple of rock formations had caught his eye, but there was nothing to see of either the Mosquitos or the Lysander, and it was doubtful that all of them would have had engine trouble or other problems simultaneously. From his altitude, the sun was just starting to reach down for the horizon, and he peered through the coexistent brightness and shade of sunset on the ground for the airfield at Luxor.

It was whilst he was doing this that he noticed a moving speck on the ground, which slowly started rising. As he drew closer, he realised with a shock that it was the Lysander, and it now swung around to the west. Surely Ginger wasn't going to try and get to the crash site in the Lysander- even with the extra tanks, that was almost three times the small aircraft's range away. Wondering what on earth was going on, Algy turned the Harrow so that its course would intercept Ginger's, and sped up slightly, hoping to catch him.

They had gone about one hundred and twenty-five miles west when the sun began to set in earnest, the dome of heaven being painted with graduating blues and pinks, and the ground below the Harrow becoming a carpet of regal purple. As Karga passed under his port wingtip, and Ginger showed no sign of landing, Algy began to worry. Was it even Ginger in the Lysander? Where were the Mosquitos? Where was the pilot headed, this far out in the desert?

A while later, as the last rays of the sun were dying, the Lysander began to sink towards the earth, clearly out to land, but in a very shallow and leisurely descent. Algy breathed a sigh of relief. The Lysander must be near the end of its endurance by now, and a powered glide was preferable to a dead prop. The lad was going to get a good talking to when they were on the ground, providing it was him at the controls. Algy really would feel like a fool if it wasn't his young friend, and even more of a fool if it wasn't even their Lysander. But there was still the puzzle that no sign of a settlement or even an oasis had appeared over the horizon- where was the Lysander aiming for?

However, just as he got down to wondering, the gravity tank of the Harrow reached its last drops, and the engine coughed a few times before packing up completely. This time Algy knew that it wasn't a leaky petrol tank- not having refuelled at Luxor after all the time spent looking for Ginger, Bertie, and Biggles between Luxor and Beni Suef, he was lucky to have got as far as he had. Rolling his eyes and internally kicking himself for making such an elementary error, he put the machine into a steady glide but still tried to follow the Lysander, even though he was gradually sinking further and further behind it.

The Harrow descended into a world of shadowy darkness as it got closer to the earth, and Algy had trouble working out where it would be safe to put down between the many hills that seemed to litter this particular part of the world. As he sunk into a valley, the last thing he saw in the distance was a small collection of lights, which might have been anything from campfires to just a strange, night-time mirage. Eventually he chose what he hoped was a wadi, and pulled the stick back, hoping for the best. His wish came true when the Harrow trundled to a controlled stop on hard sand, and there was silence, utter and complete.

Every noise he made feeling like a hammer blow to a glass window, he climbed out of his seat, out of the hatch, and dropped to the desert sand. Taking a few steps to a nearby rock, he perched himself on the natural heater, lit a cigarette, and pondered his situation.

He had one canteen of water, no petrol, no food, and no idea where he was. He'd followed what might have been Ginger's Lysander out into the Sahara on an impulse, and was now paying the price: if anyone found him, it would be a miracle. At least the Harrow wasn't hard to spot, still painted in green camo and not desert pattern, and it might provide him with some shade the next day.

It was then that he remembered the lights that he'd seen during his descent, and connected them with the fact that there must be people there to create them, and they might be able to help him. Not seeing any other options open to him, and detesting sitting on a rock waiting for the end to come, he picked up the canteen of water from the cockpit and, after taking a last look at the marooned and eerie Harrow, started walking in the direction he thought he had seen the lights, hoping he was right.

Hot deserts are, by their very name, hot, because of the constant, cloudless sunshine that they are subjected to all day, all year. During the day, sand, rocks, and almost anything else that the sun touches absorb heat, and quickly reach astounding temperatures. When the sun goes down, they continue to release the heat steadily, and so the oven-like temperatures which are experienced during the day frequently continue well into the evening. However, after the heat in these stores runs out, with the nights being just as perfectly clear as the days, there is no more heat to be had. Temperatures can drop from one extreme to another in just a few hours, leaving anyone dressed purely for the heat in a very chilly situation indeed. It was in this situation that Algy now found himself.

For the first few hours of walking he had forgotten about this cooling factor, and was reminded of it when he realised that he was shivering profusely, his fingers and feet starting to cramp from cold. Knowing that it could reach a dangerous level, he decided that he couldn’t go on with his legs wobbling like jelly, and decided to adopt the usual practice of sleeping open in the desert: laying down and covering oneself with the luke-warm sand as much as one could, and trying to fall asleep. However, laying down was the key issue, for as soon as Algy was half bent over, he simply toppled, not having the strength or energy to do anything else. He hadn't slept for almost nineteen hours, and with many of those hours spent flying, it had really worn him down. As for covering himself with sand, well, he simply couldn't lift his arms, for any kind of work would require a supreme amount of self-control that he did not possess at that moment to stop the shivering. He instead tried to pull his legs up to his chest. Eyelids heavy, he reached out to the life-giving canteen of water to make sure it was safe, but never felt his fingers touch it. He was asleep before his hand hit the sand.


	4. Ginger Reports Back

When the Lysander touched its wheels back at Dakhla, Ginger was still pondering what on earth could have happened to Algy. The only plausible explanation he had come to was that he was down somewhere between Alexandria and Luxor, and was in such trouble that he hadn't even been able to make his destination by nightfall. However, even if he had had the petrol to fly up at look for Algy, he wouldn't have done so. If he was in one place, he would know definitely if Algy came in, but if he was flying about in hundreds of square miles of desert, then they could easily miss each other. It was with these thoughts in his head that he landed back at their advanced base, and taxied over to their allotted hangar space. As he dropped to the ground, Biggles strode over to meet him, stubbing a cigarette with his heel.

"I was beginning to think I was going to be on my own in this mess, what kept you?" he opened, obviously quite angry.

"I waited until nightfall, but Algy still didn't come in." Ginger reported with a heavy tone. "I left it as late as I could. That fellow Makhadie said that he hadn't seen anyone else between us three taking off and me coming back, and I feel like he was telling the truth."

Biggles sighed deeply, staring at the ground. Ginger suddenly realised that the two of them were alone.

"Where's Bertie?" he asked, "Shouldn't he be back from his recon flight by now?"

"He should have been back hours ago." Biggles said. "That Mosquito could have run it's tanks dry twice over in the time he's been gone. I'm afraid he must be down too."

Ginger was bereft. First Algy had disappeared on the journey down, now Bertie hadn't come back from their first flight to find the stricken Dragon. It seemed only a matter of time before either Biggles, himself, or both of them disappeared, then the operation really would be sunk. If they were being targeted, then why? The revolution in Niger was a serious issue, but surely those people would want the diamonds recovered by them, they they would simply rob the air police when they landed somewhere? And what about that intelligence pilot that had been mentioned…

At that moment, a man came running over to them from the main airport building, babbling something in what was presumably Arabic. Biggles and Ginger looked blankly at him, and the man slowly realised that there was a strong language barrier. He then set about communicating his message in sign language, first by pointing to the fuselage of the Lysander, which they still stood by, then stretching his arms apart. He then seemed to mime something landing- no, crash landing, judging by the sound effects, and pointed off into the desert towards Luxor. The two pilots tried to make sense of it.

"Aircraft…wide- no, big…"

"Crashed…in Luxor?"

"Between…between here and Luxor."

"A big aircraft has crashed between here and Luxor." Biggles finally stated, and the man nodded. "What does that have to do with us?"

The man tapped the fuselage again, and Biggles and Ginger exchanged a look.

"Yes, an aircraft, we got that." Biggles said, wondering what he was missing.

"Algy!" Ginger suddenly said, making Biggles look at him in confusion.

"How on earth do you get 'Algy' from a man pointing to the Lysander?"

"He's pointing at the markings- the British markings!" Ginger explained. "There must have been a report of a large aircraft with British markings crashing in the desert- what else can it be but Algy in the Harrow?"

"You're right!" Biggles agreed, eyes wide. "That's why you didn't see him at Luxor- he was already down on the way here after speaking to Makhadie!"

Another set of hand gestures told them that a rescue party was being mounted, and Biggles and Ginger instantly volunteered to go with them. Mounting camels who's saddle bags were packed with essential rescue supplies, the group of about ten men moved out into the desert, soon leaving the lights of Dakhla far behind. They had also bought some petrol with them at Biggles' request, as they would have to try and fix up the Harrow and fly it to Dakhla to pick up the Dragon's casualties.

Whilst it was a barren and open place in the day, the desert sands somehow felt very different at night, with many more odd shadows, especially those of the camels and riders. To Ginger, it felt almost crowded at some more narrow passes, and he had a sudden wish for the journey to be over. Deserts at night had always tended to give him the spooks.

They reached the Harrow in about an hour's hard going, the movement of the camels making Ginger feel more than slightly sick. As they neared the site, it transpired that the transport had come down in a valley, but it wasn't the crash that the messenger had told them about, but a rather neat affair. Looking around, Biggles noticed a disturbance in the sand near the exit hatch, and examined the lines on the ground. It was a moment before his slightly tired brain realised that they were footprints, leading to a rock, to the Harrow and back again, then off into the desert. Pointing these out to the slightly confused rescue people, who had been expecting to find a wrecked aeroplane, three of their number followed them off into the desert at a camel's canter.

Dreading what he might find, Biggles told Ginger to wait outside whilst he climbed up into the silent fuselage and walked to the cockpit. He was surprised, and a little relieved, to find it empty. A quick inspection of the instruments showed the problem- a lack of fuel. He checked the tanks, and finding that they were not holed, went outside again.

"Well, wherever Algy is, he's not here." He said, looking around.

"What's wrong with the Harrow?" Ginger asked.

"Ran out of fuel before it reached Dakhla." Biggles replied. "It looks like Algy got out and walked."

"You reckon he made it? And we missed him, I mean?"

"Maybe, but I don't think it's likely." Biggles opined. "He's probably stuck in the desert somewhere, the silly ass."

He was hiding worry with anger: his distress about Algy's whereabouts ran more than surface deep. Concern for Bertie was also playing on his mind, but as Algy's situation was more current, it weighed him down the heaviest.

With nothing else to do until the three riders who had gone after the tracks returned, Biggles unknowingly sat on the same rock as Algy had perched on hours earlier, and also had a smoke. Ginger stood a short distance away, kicking the sand with his boot and wondering when he would get some sleep.

After about fifteen minutes the sound of galloping camels filled the valley, and everyone looked around to see the three camels reappear, with four riders. Algy was half-slumped in front of the lead rider, one of whose hands was supporting the pilot, the other controlling the camel. The party pulled to a stop near where Biggles now stood waiting, and lowered Algy to the ground. Ginger and Biggles immediately gathered round him.

"He's passed out," Biggles announced, "probably fatigue, and maybe dehydration. The Harrow seems to be in perfect order- let's get him back to Dakhla as soon as possible."

Ginger directed the refuelling from several jerry cans whilst Biggles performed the walk around and checks, anxious to be off. Algy was in need of medical attention, and he and Ginger were in need of some sleep: they all needed to be ready for whatever would go wrong tomorrow, and especially for working out what had happened to Bertie. Whilst one of the camel riders elected to come in the aircraft to check Algy, having experience with desert-related ailments, the rest rode off for Dakhla in a cloud of moonlit dust. As soon as they were clear, Biggles swung the Harrow around so the nose pointed towards open desert, then pushed the throttle open and roared into the night sky.

Ginger sat in the second pilots’ seat, still slightly in awe of the moment of take-off, even after all his general flying with Biggles and Algy, and his war experience. The sky, an unceasing astrodome from horizon to horizon, enthralled him, and his eyes seldom left it until they were approaching Dakhla, when the oasis from the air became more interesting.

As soon as they were safely on the ground, Biggles consulted the pseudo-medic as to Algy's condition, and thankfully ascertained that it was not overly serious, mostly fatigue. As long as he topped up his fluids when he woke up, he would suffer no long-term discomfort. It was thankful, Biggles was told, that Algy had taken his trip during darkness, or sunstroke could have seriously complicated the issue. Ginger shivered, having had a past brush with that himself. Algy was transferred to the hotel they were staying at, and everyone went to bed after a long, long day.


	5. Bertie's Adventures

Bertie wasn't too pleased to be volunteered by Biggles for the first reconnaissance flight, but he knew better than to grumble. With Algy late, Biggles needing to remain in Command, and Ginger stuck with his Lysander, it couldn’t have been anyone else anyway. After one last glass of iced lemonade, purchased for a clearly tourist-aimed price, he climbed into the sweltering cockpit of the Mosquito, and took to the sky.

From what he'd heard and had explained to him, the crashed Dragon Rapide was likely to be in the area where Niger, Libya, and Chad all had a common border, which was what made the issue so complicated. What didn’t help was the lack of border definition: it was unlikely that they would ever truly know where the crash had occurred, even after they found it. Knowing this, he flew a roughly westerly course from Dakhla, meandering from this course to pan widely across the sands below him, eyes keenly searching for anything resembling a crash.

After an hour he knew he must be outside Egypt, and hadn't seen anything untoward. Now flying over Libya, he knew that he had to watch out for any sign of the French, but thankfully he seemed to be alone in the burnished blue sky. Flying practically over the border between Libya and Chad, he had a country under each wingtip for the majority of the time, and found this very amusing.

Bertie was not a little surprised when his eye was suddenly caught by a dark patch in the otherwise over-bright sandscape, which on closer inspection turned out to be the crash of the Dragon. For a second, he was suspicious- on a mission that Raymond gave them, their objective was usually much more hard to find- but then he remembered that there were four injured people down there who had been waiting two days for rescue, and set a course for the growing spot. As he drew closer, he saw that the nose of the dragon was completely buried in sand, and the tail was cocked high in the air. It also appeared to have narrowly missed a large, square rock, which could have had even more fatal consequences. The nearest patch of land which looked safe to land was about fifty metres way behind a tall sand dune, and as soon as he had switched off, Bertie picked up the canteen of water and medical supplies that Biggles had equipped him with, and set off across the sands for the crash site. Scaling the dune, it's sands ever-shifting beneath his feet, was hot work, and he paused for a minute at the top, giving a last look back to the Mosquito before turning back to the dragon.

However, before he could fully turn around, two shots rang out and he ducked automatically, losing his precarious footing in the process. Rolling down the dune towards the crash, his head missed the nose by inches only to hit one of the tyres of the Rapide. Dazed, wondering where he had been shot, and by whom, he hadn't even raised himself on an elbow when a figure was bending over him, and he was staring down a rifle barrel.

"Spy!" the figure barked in rough French, face hidden behind a dust mask, and perched atop a militaristic uniform. "On your feet!"

Bertie had, by this time, worked out that both shots had missed him, but his head was still spinning. He used the Rapide's semi-shattered wing to pull himself up, then leaned heavily on it whilst trying to make out what was happening. This person certainly wasn't one of the casualties, but didn't have a clue how to distinguish the military uniforms of Niger, Chad, or Libya.

"Who are you?" he asked, also in French, thinking that the person might just tell him. "Why are you here?"

"Captain Zoulef of the Chadian Desert Army. You are under arrest." the man said, pointing the rifle menacingly. "Go with the others. We leave soon."

Very confused, Bertie ducked under the wing and tail, and saw the situation on the other side of the crashed aircraft. What he had initially taken to be a large, square rock was actually a military covered truck, with a soldier in the same uniform as his captor in the driving seat. Getting a glance into the Dragon's half-shattered and sand filled cabin as he was escorted past, he saw that it was empty, and wondered where the casualties were. As he was pushed up into the back of the truck, he found out. One of them was lying on the floor, a white bandage around their head, the other three were sitting on the benches that lined the edge of the truck, leaning back against the truck. Only one of them looked around: one of his wrists was in a rough bandage, and he had a large cut on his face which was still bleeding slightly. When Bertie took a seat opposite him, rubbing his temple, he was the first to speak.

"Did they injure you too?" the voice was clipped, soft, and in English, like that of a scholar or academic.

"No fear, this was my own doing," Bertie replied, "slipped on some sand and hit my head on a bally tyre. Those things are surprisingly hard, you know."

"I heard shots," the man asked, "did they not hit you? We have some medical supplies, if you need them."

"I'm alright, just a little dazed." Bertie said. "I actually came to rescue you, but look where that got me."

The man started. "Rescue us? You mean, someone knows about our situation?" Bertie looked around furtively, making sure that all of the Chadian guards were out of earshot, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I'm part of the Special Air Police- Scotland Yard." he said. "There's a Mosquito about fifty metres over that dune, and it's mine. I was going to pick up the worst injured of you with it and take you to Dakhla, in Egypt, but as you can see, that didn't quite work out." He leaned back, looking around, and resumed his normal tone. "I take it you're the people who were in the Dragon?"

"Yes." The man replied. "I'm Doctor Kulek, from Niamey. I was one of the passengers."

"The two pilots- are they seriously injured?" Bertie asked, looking at the other three occupants of the truck.

"Not as seriously as Geri thought. He's the other passenger. The man lying down is- well, I never actually caught his name, but he was the pilot when we crashed. Great chap, brave as anything, but he was injured the worst. Much of the glass cockpit shattered on impact, and he got it full in the face. He hasn't been fully conscious since, but I've tried my best to care for him."

"And the other pilot?"

"He refused to tell anyone his name. I'm not even sure that he's a pilot to be perfectly frank, I never saw him look professionally at the aircraft at all." Doctor Kulek said. "He insisted that we get out of Niger as quickly as possible, preferably to Egypt, but didn't say a word. He's hardly said a word since."

He nodded surreptitiously to the man on the end, who was simply sitting with his back straight and staring ahead, as though in a trance. Bertie and the Doctor resumed their conference.

"So, what was everyone doing in the bally aircraft then?" Bertie asked.

"The man who refuses to give a name had paid our pilot to get him out of Niger. I thought that it would be good for Geri and I to come too."

"Why? What's so special about you two?"

"We are two of the deputy advisers to Niger's government." Doctor Kulek replied. "If anything were to happen to the main government figures, we would return from outside Niger to try and return order against the revolutionaries."

Bertie took a deep breath in. "We can't allow the Chadians to know that, they'd probably shoot you on sight. Chad has thrown it's lot in with the revolutionaries on this one."

"I know- they think we are two terrified hostages." the Doctor said. "We were mostly terrified when the Chadians initially appeared, and decided to play into their initial theory."

"Well, at least that's-"

But Bertie was cut off in his speech by the arrival of a Chadian soldier, who climbed into the back of the truck and stamped twice. Without further ado, the truck's engine sprang to life, and they were soon leaving the crash behind, Bertie's Mosquito and all. In slightly rusty French, Bertie asked the soldier where they were going. The reply was barked at him: "Bardai.". 'So that's why there are people here already!' Bertie thought, watching the crash site grow smaller and smaller behind them. 'Instead of coming from Faya-Largeau, they came from Bardai. It's nearly three hundred miles closer to the three-way border. They would be asses not to in a situation like this.'. His next thoughts were those of any prisoner: how to escape.

There only seemed to be two Chadian soldiers, and one driver, so getting control of the situation didn't pose too much of an issue. However, the next question would be how to make sure that nobody died of thirst; however keen he was to escape, and get the crash victims some medical care, the soldiers had only been doing their duty. On the pretext of looking at the cut on his face, Bertie leant over and whispered his plan to Doctor Kulek, who replied that it was mad, but at this point he was willing to try anything to stop the revolution. Once Bertie had finished actually tending to the cut, as it was surprisingly deep, he sat back and waited for the Doctor to communicate the plan to Geri in a similar way. The pilot who had refused to give his name was not informed, as the Doctor judged that from his previous shows of character, he wasn't likely to stick to it. When Geri signalled that he was ready, Bertie struck the first blow.

He literally turned in his seat and punched their guard in the face- it had the desired effect, toppling the soldier instantly. When he didn't look like staying down Bertie went after him, trying to keep the fight away from the injured pilot lying on the ground. Almost in the same moment as Bertie landed that first hit, there was a word of command from the cab of the truck, and it drew to a sudden and jarring halt. Two sets of feet jumped to the ground and ran up the truck on either side, but the first thing to appear around the corner was a rifle barrel. A shot was fired but it was loose, and merely went through the canvas roof of the truck. Geri and Doctor Kulek leapt up, jumping from their seats onto Captain Zoulef and the driver, and all four fell hard onto the desert sand. After a few surprisingly artful punches from the Doctor to Captain Zoulef, and a well-timed headbutt from Geri to the driver, the two captives turned to where Bertie was still grappling with the guard, the unnamed pilot watching on with apparent boredom. The guard suddenly rolled and got his hands around Bertie's neck, in such a way that there was no fighting back.

"Help…me you…ass!" Bertie gasped, looking frantically at the bystander as he started to feel the effects of a lack of air.

The man did nothing but watch lazily, but Geri leapt into the truck and single-handedly pulled Bertie's attacker off him. With a single, swift upper cut, the guard fell out the back of the truck like a sack of potatoes to land in the middle of his fellows, and the three panting ex-captives looked down at their handywork.

"Well, that wasn't so bad now, was it?" Bertie said, rubbing his neck.

"I've fought worse," Doctor Kulek said, massaging his knuckles, "but this was somehow better."

Geri agreed with their sentiments, and a large bottle of water was found and passed around. After that, it was time to decide what to do next.

A short conference was held, which quickly came up with a plan. Their prisoners, who were all still unconscious, were left with the water, map, and compass from the truck, as well as a slightly holey spare roof canvas for the truck which had been in the back, which was messily propped up to give them some shade from the burning sun. Then, Geri electing to stay in the back of the truck with the two pilots, Bertie took the wheel with Doctor Kulek as his passenger, and they turned the truck around, heading back on their tracks for the site of the Dragon's crash.


	6. The Next Phase

Late in the morning after the desert fiasco, Algy awoke with a splitting headache. Cracking open his eyes, he could see just enough to gather that he was in a hotel room, that the blinds were down, and that someone had tucked him into bed- a most odd set of circumstances for someone who's last memories were of endless sand and freezing cold. Raising himself on one elbow, he spied a clean set of clothes on a chair nearby, and saw a razor glint alluringly from the bathroom.

He emerged fifteen minutes later into the hotel corridor washed and changed, and with absolutely no idea where he was. He suspected it was somewhere in Luxor, thought the complete lack of people suggested otherwise, and he wandered towards a staircase sign. The view from one of the windows was one of a couple of streets of buildings, before desert to the horizon. It could be Luxor…?

He arrived at the ground floor and entered the hotel's lobby. A ceiling fan circled lazily above the desk, where a desk clerk was reading a magazine, oblivious. Algy suddenly realised that he had no idea where he was going…who saved him…or what he was going to do next. Where was the Harrow? Where were Biggles, Bertie, and Ginger?

The last question was answered when a door on the left swung open, releasing a smell of something nice, and two people. He just clocked that one of them was Biggles when there was a shout, and a ginger-headed blur charged towards him, just stopping short.

"Algy!" Ginger said, "You're awake!"

"As far as I'm aware," Algy replied, looking around again, "unless this is all a dream. Where am I?"

"Dakhla." Biggles said, holding himself back from beaming- Algy had been out for so long that they had been starting to worry.

"Dakhla? I thought that was somewhere in Morocco?"

"There's two, apparently; this one's in Egypt." Biggles replied. "We think Bertie might have tried for the other one though."

"He's- missing?"

"He should have been back yesterday afternoon, and now it's mid-morning." Ginger said, a sad look on his face. "He's definitely down somewhere."

"So it's my rescue: part two?" Algy joked, then saw the seriously worried looks on his friends faces. "Alright, what happened?"

"Let's get a table and talk things over." Biggles suggested, gesturing to the dining room.

The three of them found a booth underneath one of two working fans in the room, and Algy was ordered a very large glass of iced water. After ensuring that Algy was definitely fit enough to be up, Biggles told him about the events of the day before, and the two sides of the encounter compared notes. Finally, Biggles outlined the plan for the rest of the day.

"Bertie was out looking for the Dragon, so he was aiming for the three-way border between Niger, Chad, and Libya." he began. "There's no way of knowing exactly where he is in all that desert, but I gave him a compass course, so I might as well follow that until I reach my limit, then if I haven't seen anything I'll come back and someone else can try a different course."

"You're going first?" Algy queried.

"Well you aren't exactly in a fit state," Biggles said, watching Algy drink half a glass or water at a time, "and I've got a different errand for Ginger."

The younger pilot's ears visibly perked up, and he looked around eagerly.

"As soon as you've calmed down, you can take the Lysander back to Luxor and investigate that fellow Makhadie." Biggles said. "It seems that he was deliberately misdirecting us when Algy was late."

"Sure thing, chief! I'll go and get ready." Ginger almost bounced from the room, the doors swinging wildly in his wake.

Algy turned to Biggles. "What's up with Ginger? He's very…awake."

"He felt very tired after our night adventures in the desert, so I let him try an energy drink." Biggles said, a shadow of regret on his face. "It certainly…works."

The two pilots carefully avoided making eye contact for a second, before Algy cleared his throat, staring pointedly into his water glass. "Well, I guess we'd better get off after Bertie…"

"Yes, let's check the Mosquito."

Algy downed the last of his water, and the pair headed outside, down the couple of streets that lead to the airfield. They walked in silence for the most part, but just before they arrived, Biggles couldn't hold back any longer.

"You should have seen Ginger this morning, he was practically bouncing around the hotel. Rabbits had nothing on him."

"Sounds like a sight."

"Well, he won't be having sugary drinks again for a while."

They reached the airfield soon afterwards, and Algy watched as Biggles checked the remaining Mosquito over. The Harrow was sitting in the other corner of the hangar, looking almost sad after its night abandoned in the Sahara. Ginger arrived shortly before Biggles was due to take off, looking slightly less bouncy and more down to earth. He went over to the Lysander without a word, starting his own checks. Algy and Biggles exchanged a glance, then Biggles hastily disappeared inside the Mosquito. Giving a last wave, he taxied out and roared into the sky, set on the compass course that Bertie had taken. Similarly to Bertie, he realised with a start that he had a different country under either wing just after he left Egypt, and smiled.

Even though he kept a sharp lookout on either side and ahead, Biggles still managed to almost miss the Rapide's crash site, as it had been partially covered with sand by an oddly strong desert wind. Hoping that there wasn't about to be a haboob, he circled at two hundred feet and surveyed the situation. The Dragon sat nosed into a sand dune, tail pointing skywards, and Bertie's Mosquito sat about fifty metres north of it, on what appeared to be one of the only safe landing strips near to the crash. There was no movement in either camp, except the occasionally discernible ripples of shifting sand.

Just as he was lining up to land, intending to check out Bertie's Mosquito, Biggles noticed a black dot on the horizon, and peered towards it. As it grew closer, he realised with a start that it was a military truck, coming from the direction of Chad, and completed the landing with all haste. Leaping out of his Mosquito, he ran over to Bertie's and checked the cockpit- it was empty. Thinking- and hoping- that something must have happened at the Rapide to keep him, Biggles swiftly ascended the sand dune and half-slid half-jumped down the other side, finishing just short of the cabin door. Climbing inside without preamble, he was shocked to find it empty. The half-crushed cockpit was also devoid of people, so he stepped outside again and looked around, feeling strangely like the last man on earth.

It was at that point that he saw the truck, so close that he could read the number-plate. He suddenly knew that wherever Bertie and the casualties had gone, or been taken, was where he was about to end up. Abandoning the Rapide, he clambered back over the sand dune and made a run for his Mosquito, hoping to at least be able to report the situation to the others, and come back with reinforcements. He wouldn't be able to do anything, one man on ten.

Just as he had started up the engines and was about to begin taxiing, the truck roared around the sand dune and pulled to a stop across the nose of the Mosquito, clearly seeing what it was trying to do. The position was desperate, and Biggles was reluctant to allow himself to be captured. Interred with Bertie, he could do nothing, and nobody would know- Ginger, then Algy, might fall into this trap. He had to get away to warn them.

It was time for last resorts. Shutting off the engines and reaching under his seat, Biggles pulled out a twelve-shot pistol, one of four which Raymond had given them on the quiet, to be used in emergencies. Well, this certainly seemed like an emergency to him, so he checked it over before swiftly climbing out and crouching beneath the fuselage. He took careful aim, then fired off a warning shot.

"Oh, I say," rang out a familiar voice, all of a sudden, "do mind where you're pointing that bally thing, you almost hit me!"

Surprised, and relieved beyond measure, Biggles came out from his position to see Bertie strolling cautiously away from the truck, and a quartet of people following him. Two of them were carrying a third between them, and the fourth came forward with Bertie. Biggles took these new faces to be the casualties, but was surprised that most of them could walk: the picture painted to him had been one of very severe injuries, and he frankly hadn't expected to find them all alive. He greeted the party.

"There you are Bertie, I was beginning to worry about you."

"I was beginning to worry about me myself, old chap, when that shot whistled past me." Bertie confessed. "That and the second Mosquito- thought I was seeing double!"

"Well, there's only one of me." Biggles said, looking around. "Are these the people from the Dragon?"

"Yes, this is Doctor Kulek and Geri, the two passengers," Bertie introduced, as they shook hands with Biggles, "then there's the pilot who was in control during the crash, he's that fellow who they've set down on the sand. We're not sure what his name is. He's badly banged up, the cockpit glass shattered whilst he was still in control, and he's hardly been conscious since the crash, apparently. This other chap is our, uh, _quarry_." Bertie said, with a heavy wink that Biggles didn't miss.

Biggles nodded, understanding that he must be the intelligence agent that Raymond had told them about initially, then returned his mind to logistics.

"Bertie, how do you feel about flying?"

"Not exactly top-hole, but I'm sure I could manage it."

Doctor Kulek spoke up. "He has been a long time without sleep, and hit his head on a tyre yesterday. I would not suggest him flying." As Bertie gave him a fleeting dark glare, Biggles narrated his plan. He would fly his mosquito back to Dakhla, taking the most heavily injured pilot with him, then return in the Harrow to pick up everyone else. All they had to do was not get captured by anyone's land forces whilst he was away. To aid them in this, he handed over the pistol, which now contained eleven bullets, and reminded Bertie that there was another stowed under the seat of his own Mosquito, should he need it, as well as leaving them with his canteen. After the pilot was loaded into the Mosquito and made as comfortable as the situation would permit, Biggles took off as gently as possible and raced for Dakhla, aware that both Bertie's and the casualty's lives were in his hands now.

He was waving as many arms as he could spare as obviously as possible as soon as he was safely off the runway, and by shouting as soon as his feet touched the floor, bought a group of people running, Algy and some medics among them. Whilst the pilot was rushed to hospital, Biggles took Algy aside.

"I've found Bertie, but had to leave him stranded in the desert, as the other Mosquito is completely out of fuel." he summarised. "Let's get the Harrow and get back to them as soon as possible. What did Ginger have to say about Makhadie?"

"I wish I knew- he's not back yet." Algy replied.

"Then hopefully he's found something interesting," Biggles said, "he agreed to come straight back otherwise."

As it happened, Algy had not been idle whilst Biggles was away, but had taken the time to have the Harrow prepared for a rescue mission, by adding spare petrol enough for a mosquito to reach Dakhla, medical supplies, food, and water. The weight limits would still allow for eight people to board, so everything worked out fine. Within fifteen minutes of landing, Biggles was back in the sky again, this time with Algy slightly dubiously at the controls, heading for where Bertie and the others waited. The Harrow made it disappointingly slow work after the thrill of the Mosquitos, but they eventually landed and jumped onto the sand. Bertie strolled to meet them.

"That was quick!" he said, with a touch of sarcasm, "You've barely been four hours."

"We came as quickly as we could." Algy said, a little tartly.

"Where were you when we arrived at Dakhla?" Bertie asked Algy, as they stood refuelling Bertie's Mosquito a couple of minutes later.

"I had trouble on the way down, and our mutual acquaintance Makhadie was messing us around." Algy explained. "I ended up having a forced landing in a desert valley and passing out trying to walk to Dakhla."

"Sounds like fun." Bertie replied, emptying his can. "I've been shot at, captured, punched, throttled, and shot at again, in that order. That last shot was fired by the old Biggles- but of a close call, it you know what I mean."

Algy laughed good-naturedly, and the two of them walked back to where Biggles was checking that everything and everyone in the Harrow was ready to go. Loading the empty petrol cans, Bertie climbed into the second pilot's seat, not wanting to be left out, and Algy soon sat down beside him. Biggles was taking the Mosquito, as he was the fittest of the pilots there- if anything happened to Algy or Bertie, the other could take over to land. Just like Doctor Kulek, Biggles didn’t quite trust the other 'pilot' of the dragon, mostly because he'd almost had his head taken off by the Harrow's left airscrew- twice. When everyone was ready, the Mosquito lead the formation into the air and they all headed for Dakhla, happy for the end to finally be in sight.


	7. Ginger Investigates

Ginger arrived in Luxor about two hours after setting off from Dakhla, a surprisingly quick run, and after parking the Lysander in a shady spot, moseyed over to where the short, thin figure of Makhadie was still leaning against the terminal building. Ginger realised then that he had never seen anyone else in Luxor, and wondered why. The fact that he always seemed to be there in the hottest part of the day wasn't really a reason; surely these people had business to attend to? Still thinking about this, he stopped near Makhadie, and casually opened the conversation.

"Thanks for telling us about Dakhla, it's been a real help."

"You are welcome." the man bowed his head for a second. "What were you looking for?"

"We were…" Ginger hesitated, knowing that Biggles wouldn't approve of random strangers knowing their business, especially this peculiar cove. "…looking for somewhere to spend a holiday."

"Did you find what you sought?" Makhadie pressed, turning towards Ginger and ignoring his lame lie.

"We weren't-"

Suddenly, the long, thin cigarette was thrown away, and both of Makhadie's hands were on Ginger's collar, pinning him to the terminal. The man was surprisingly strong and agile, and Ginger squirmed in his grasp.

"Did you find the diamonds?" Makhadie rasped, their faces inches apart.

"What diamonds?" Ginger shot back, knowing that he wouldn’t be believed, but stalling for time to think of a new plan.

"The diamonds in the Dragon Rapide that crashed in Niger."

"I thought it crashed in Liby- oh."

Makhadie smiled, a wide and terrible smile, and pulled Ginger off the wall, pushing him into the terminal in front of him. The corridor was deserted, and Ginger didn’t hear another sign of human life as he was shoved through a surprisingly large maze of doors and corridors, then finally into a small office with a high, barred window. The only furniture was a desk, desk chair, and filing cabinet. Makhadie closed the door behind them, and pulled out a small pistol, which he now trained on his captive. Complete silence fell. Ginger thought that his end had come.

"So you did find the diamonds, eh?" Makhadie said suddenly, the words shattering the silence like bullets, making Ginger flinch internally. "Do you have them with you? You were sent as the…advance guard, were you not?"

"I don't know where they are!" Ginger answered truthfully, his voice a note or two above it's normal level. "I haven't even seen them."

"You lie. I need those diamonds, so that I can start the revolution that will change my country for the better, and I will get them."

"I don't have them!"

They locked gazes for a second, before Makhadie spoke.

"Your friends will be along soon enough. I have been told that you four always stick together." A suspicion entered Ginger's mind, but he didn’t voice it- that card would be saved for later. "You are staying here. When their plane lands, I will intercept it, and get the diamonds. Niger will be saved by the revolution!" with that, Makhadie swept from the room, and a key turned in the lock from the outside.

Even though he knew that it was a futile gesture, Ginger shouted after the retreating footsteps of his captor to be let out. Once those were inaudible, he calmed down and looked at exactly what he had to work with. The desk was sparsely populated with various pencils, pens, and papers, but the filing cabinet yielded a much more useful instrument: a box of paperclips. Kneeling next to the door, Ginger peered through the keyhole to see if his first idea would work, but sadly the key was no longer in the lock. Putting aside the paper, he set at the mechanism with a handful of bent paperclips, realising that every passing minute could be Biggles, Algy, and hopefully Bertie drawing closer and closer to their doom. He was under no illusion what Makhadie's gun would mean to them.

He'd been going at the lock with a crushing slowness and lack of skill for almost an hour, when the drone of an aircraft reached his ears. Initially pausing to try and work out the type, he returned to his task with the ferocity of someone crazed when he recognized it as the low pulse of the Harrow. He heard the engine note change as the transport started to descend, and the lock finally yielded just as the squeal of landing tires echoed faintly through the corridor outside. Ginger fell from the room with abandon, trying to remember the route that Makhadie had bought him in by- was it right left left, or right left right? Taking a guess, he started running through the endless corridors, desperate the make the runway before Makhadie and his friends met- with possibly fatal consequences.


	8. Return Home

When the Harrow touched down at Dakhla, Biggles lost no time in offloading the rest of the Dragon's casualties on the nearest hospital, making sure to get the diamonds from the British agent. They still didn't know the man's name, but he became significantly less stuck up once he was relieved of his charges, and seemed to collapse into the arms of the medics shortly afterwards. The last thing that the three air-police did before leaving was to arrange a guard over the casualties with the local police, for their own safety whilst they were recovering.

The two Mosquitos were left at Dakhla to be picked up later, as Biggles didn't feel confident letting Algy and Bertie alone in them, so they all flew on to Luxor in the Harrow. The journey across the desert was monotonous as usual, but it was the monotony of a long journey with home waiting at the end, so it was not too bad to bear.

Luxor slowly fading over the horizon towards them had the effect of producing a small cheer, and as Biggles settled into the landing, he noticed that Makhadie wasn't in his normal place by the terminal building. Wondering where Ginger was going to meet them, he taxied over to the hangar they had used before and switched off. Stretching his arms, he looked around for any sign of human habitation.

Just as he was beginning to think they had landed in a ghost town, a figure burst from some stunted bushes some distance away, and started tearing towards the aircraft, clutching something it it's hand. Almost at the same time, Ginger burst from the terminal building, and after a pause, started running after the figure. Unsure of what was happening, Biggles climbed hastily to the ground and watched the two figures approach, the unknown one slightly faster than Ginger, who seemed to be mouthing something. It was only as he got closer that Biggles realised he was saying something.

"Biggles! Makhadie's got a gun!"

Realisation poured in as Biggles saw that the first figure was in fact Makhadie, who was now reaching out towards him. It was lucky that Ginger's warning had been heard, as Biggles ducked just in time for the first shot to zip over his head, hitting the aircraft with the faint thwip of metal on wood. Taking cover, as was the only real option, he risked a glance up to see the end of the matter.

Ginger, after the shot had been fired, had put on a spurt of speed, and quickly caught up with Makhadie, who had been slowing down as he neared the aircraft. One leap sent them both crashing to the ground, the gun between them. Not wanting to get involved lest it distract Ginger, Biggles jumped up and stood a short distance away, watching. By this time, Algy and Bertie had joined him on the ground, similarly worried.

The pair rolled over and over, clearly fighting for control of the gun. Suddenly, there was a shot, and both of them fell still, Ginger beneath Makhadie. Biggles ran over, shoving the gunman off his friend and kneeling next to him.

"Ginger! Are you alright?"

"I think…I got him…" Ginger replied, breathing deeply, realising that he hadn't received any serious injury.

The bullet had winged Makhadie's torso, and an ambulance was called. After he had been rushed to the hospital, and the four air-police were reunited again, they had a quick conference. After all stories were exchanged, Biggles placed the four diamonds in the centre of the table they had been sitting around. Breaking the light into a thousand pieces, they threw out a rainbow-coloured arc even in the fairly dim back of the hangar. Once it was ascertained that they were definitely the real thing, Biggles put through a call to Raymond.

"Well, how did it go?" was the first question that their chief asked.

"Alright," Biggles replied, "there were a couple of hitches-" -a general eye-roll- "-but all the casualties are safely in hospital in Dakhla, and-"

"Morocco?" Raymond asked, "I thought the Dragon crashed in Niger!"

"There are two places called Dakhla, sir, and one of them is in Egypt." Biggles said. "Anyway, we've got the diamonds, and will bring them to you as soon as we get back."

"Good show. I knew you'd be able to do it. One last thing," Raymond asked, "how did the call signs I suggested go down?"

The others looked at Biggles questioningly. Looking at them with a shrug, Biggles replied "I didn’t really think they'd fancy being called the Desert Cats, sir!"

**Author's Note:**

> this is the reason why there has been no inktober for a week
> 
> I'm back again! I wrote the Dragon prompt, then the plan for this, then...just this. For a week. I'm going to get back on Inktober though! There's still over a week to go...


End file.
